


we were only kids (we ran like water)

by brokendevil



Series: prompts, one-shots and other drabbles [11]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, TW: Cancer Mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 14:16:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18523234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokendevil/pseuds/brokendevil
Summary: Her best friend is beautiful and Clarke kind of loses her mind at how lucky she is to have Lexa and that she looks like that. Because now people look at Lexa like Clarke always has. It makes her puff up in pride because Lexa only ever pays attention to Clarke and, even if she’s cooler and edgier, she still kisses Clarke’s cheek and that’s all that matters.ORSomeone said I only ever write in tropes. So here's 13000 words of Childhood Friends to Lovers and absolutely no other plot.





	we were only kids (we ran like water)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry this has no plot or anything but I'm absolutely weak for this kind of stuff.
> 
> As always I will come back and edit but I have no idea when that'll be so if there is any issues please come and tell me on my Tumblr: brokendevilwrites.tumblr.com

**i.**

She’s seven and she’s pretty sure her sandcastle is the best sandcastle in the land.

There’s a rip on her jeans from where she’s been shuffling around the sandbox to make sure her fortress is efficiently protected and her pigtails have long since come loose, hanging lowly around the back of her neck.

Her chin still feels a little sticky from the strawberry popsicle she had earlier but she’s too busy to ask her dad for a wipe right now so she powers through, occasionally licking her lips and tasting sand and strawberries.

Out of the corner of her eyes she sees two boys heading towards her and she scrunches her nose up, not really willing to play with anyone else at the moment, but they don’t seem to notice her and she breathes out a little sigh of relief. She’s heard stories about boys in sandboxes before; how they trample on them and laugh and punch and, sometimes, _spit._

Her mom sometimes tells her that boy are nice but she’s not really seen anything to prove that yet.

“You’re s’posed to have a flag,” a voice tells her and Clarke sighs in a way that her mom tells her is not very ladylike. Part of her remembers what her mom has told her-- _’always be nice, Clarke, and if you can’t be nice then at least pretend you’re listening’_ \--and she decides it probably best to turn and face this person intruding on her playtime.

“What?”

When she turns there’s a girl blinking at her, her eyes large and green behind her glasses, and she’s holding a Twizzler in her hand. Clarke’s distracted by the candy for a second but then she looks back up at the girl and notes she’s missing _two_ teeth which Clarke figures means she’s older.

“Your castle needs a flag,” she shrugs and looks over Clarke’s shoulder, the red candy swaying as she points it at Clarke’s masterpiece. “Otherwise someone can just come and take it.”

“That’s not true,” Clarke defends but her heart speeds up a little because this girl might be smaller than her but she also looks like she’d be a good runner. _And_ her laces are tied properly so she probably won’t fall.

The girl frowns like she’s never been wrong about something before. “Yes it is true,” she huffs and her cheeks have gone pink like Clarke’s do sometimes when she’s been in the sunshine too long. “That’s why all castles have flags. So you know they belong to someone. Why else would they have it?”

Clarke thinks for a moment but comes up blank. “Oh,” she says simply because that kind of makes sense and she can’t really think why this girl would lie. Her mom says liars are bad and this girl doesn’t look bad. “Okay, we should probably go and get a flag then.”

The girl nods once and it’s settled.

* * *

Her dad doesn’t really look up from his newspaper when she tells him about her quest to go and find a flag but she knows she’s only allowed to go to the treeline-- _and no further, Clarke!--_ so she sets off with her new friend to find a flag. The wind picks up a little as they near a more wooded area and the hair that has come loose from her pigtails tickles the back of her neck, her hand reaching back to scratch at it.

“Want me to braid it? My mom taught me how,” the girls says and Clarke looks at her in confusion before she notices how she’s gesturing to her hair and she nods. “Okay.”

She stands behind her and Clarke sort of crouches a little because she’s taller than the other girl and she doesn’t want her to fall over. There’s a few tugs on her hair but then she feels the itchy wisps move from her neck and the relief is so much better than an ice-cream when the sun is too hot.

“Thanks,” she says when the girl is done but she doesn’t say anything back and when Clarke turns she can see the little brunette crouching to look at something on the floor. “What’s that?”

“This could be a good flag pole,” she says and holds up a twig, completely straight, and Clarke nods in agreement because it’s pretty perfect actually. She sort of forgot about the flag needing a pole but the other girl looks satisfied and stuffs the twig into her pocket, careful to make sure it doesn’t break. “Now we just need a something to fly on it.”

Clarke nods and looks around. There are leaves everywhere but that’s _boring,_ she doesn’t want just a boring flag that anyone can make. She wants it to be special.

Plus if her flag looks like everyone else's how can she prove it’s _her_ castle?

“What about this?” She says as she picks up a discarded petal; it’s yellow, like her hair, and there’s a piece missing but it’s sort of pretty still and when she smiles like she’s found the perfect one; the girls nods.

“It matches your hair so it makes sense,” she says and Clarke is struck at how they pretty much just read each other's minds.

* * *

_This_ is what a broken heart feels like, she decides.

As they make their way back to the sandbox she already feels something bubbling in her tummy. It’s not until they get to the edge that Clarke notices what is going on and it hurts.

Hurts like when she drank too much chocolate milk, even after her mom told her to stop, and it hurts even more than when she’s been laughing too much because of her dad’s tickles.

This is way different to both of those feelings and it is oh so much more worse.

“They destroyed it,” the girl growls.

Clarke clutches at her little yellow petal, sad and confused.

That was _her_ castle and now some bigger boys are playing football on top of it. The worst part is it doesn’t even look like they know what they’re doing and Clarke would probably have preferred it if they were doing it to be mean, not just to be stupid.

Her heart snaps a little when she watches a sneaker crush down on her favourite tower and she looks away.

“Wait here.”

Clarke gasps when the girl breaks away from standing next to her and she watches as she runs towards the older boys, her arms outstretched, and pushes at them. Because they’re so much bigger than them the boy with dark hair only stumbles a little and he glances down at the tiny brunette blur. There’s a look of confusion and amusement on his face and Clarke clenches her fists.

“You ruined it,” she yells and Clarke finally moves to do something. She clambers over the edge of the sanbox and jogs to catch up to her new friend. She glances quickly at her dad but he’s busy reading still and all the other adults don’t really seem to notice what’s going on. “You have to say you’re sorry.”

The boy scoffs and moves to walk away but her friend keeps going and Clarke feels her palms get a little sweaty. She’s already taller than the girl but these boys are _way_ bigger than both of them, even if she stood on her friends shoulders.

“I’m not saying shit,” he frowns and pushes the small girl away. She stumbles for a few steps but a hard line forms between her brows and she presses her lips together. “Hey, what --”

Before Clarke can even _breathe_ the tiny girl jumps onto his back and he swirls around, his feet stumbling a little on the uneven ground, and even Clarke can see that he’s torn between throwing her off and making sure she doesn’t fall.

Maybe not _all_ boys are stupid.

Clarke watches as he’s beaten by a tiny brunette and she shuffles her feet in the sand.

Or maybe they are.

“Say sorry!”

“Bro, seriously. What the hell? Get off of me,” he grunts and tugs at her shirt a little.

Clarke kind of wants to help but her dad told her once that some fights can be solved with words instead of hands and she wonders if this is one of them. The boy doesn’t seem to understand that he needs to say sorry, he just needs to learn. “

You ruined my sandcastle,” she whispers and the boy finally stops turning to look down at his feet, ironically trying to get the girl off of his back has made it worse. “It didn’t have a flag but it was mine. We were just going to get one.”

Clarke holds up the little petal and she hears a slightly muffled _‘Yeah!’_ from the boys back.

“Oh,” he says and finally dislodges the girl, letting her to the floor slowly. He looks at Clarke, all bright eyes and pouting lips, and figures it isn’t worth the argument. They’re just kids.  “Sucks. Sorry about that. We were just playing.”

Her friend walks back to her side and puts a hand on her arm. It’s kind of sticky from where the Twizzler had been between her fingers but Clarke likes the feeling of her friend being there.

The boy walks off and Clarke sighs as she looks at the mess, the little petal in her hand hanging limply at her side, and she jumps a in fright when the girl pulls her towards it.

“Come on,” she says, like it’s nothing and like her dad isn’t going to say it’s time to go soon. “Let’s try again.”

* * *

When they finish the air is a little cooler but they live in Miami so that isn’t really saying much.

Finally her dad comes over and crouches next to them with a bright smile and extends his hand to her new friend. “Hello,” he says and she looks up from where she’s been digging a swimming pool for the alligators to live and both girls look up at him, twin smiles beaming back at him. “I’m Clarke’s dad. And you are?”

“I’m not allowed to say hello to strangers,” she comes back with and her eyes narrow. It confuses Clarke because she’s pretty sure she was a stranger to this girl once but then she shrugs it off because her dad laughs and she always likes it when he’s happy. “My mom says it’s dangerous.”

“Your mom is right,” he says seriously and he nods at her at the same time she nods back at him. “Tell you what. How about we go and find your mom, kid? It’s almost time for me to take Clarke home and I don’t want you to build this castle all by yourself.”

He stands and ignores the whines of his daughter, knowing that if he looks at her he’ll give in, and he watches as the messy brunette points to where her mom is sitting. There’s a laptop and a cup next to her and she looks up when she feels eyes on her, smiling at the image of her daughter before it morphs into one of panic.

“Who are you?” She asks, speeding towards them, but Clarke is already busy poking holes for windows and she hears her dad introduce himself nicely, she can even hear the smile in his voice. One day she hopes she’ll be as nice as her daddy. “Lexa.”

It’s the first time she’s ever heard that name and her new friend looks up, eyes on her mother. “Hi mom, this is my friend. We made a castle and it has a flag in it this time so nobody can crush it.”

“Wonderful,” she beams and Lexa stands up at the same time. “Did you have a nice time with…”

She trails off and her dad supplies her name which, thinking back, Clarke wonders how they became friends without even knowing each others names.

Mr. Kane, her neighbour, says it’s polite to introduce yourself with your name but she must have forgotten.

“Say goodbye to Clarke, Lexa, it’s time to go,” the lady says and Clarke smiles at her nicely before looking at her friend.

_Lexa._

“Bye,” she says, because she isn’t really sure what else to say, and she jumps a little when she feels a soft pair of lips hitting her cheek. Suddenly she feels hot all over and the sound of the two adults laughing kind of sounds like it’s underwater.

“Mom says you gotta kiss when you say bye,” Lexa repeats like a mantra and Clarke nods because that makes sense; her mom and dad do that all the time and she sees people on the television do it too. “I hope your castle stays safe.”

Clarke nods and watches as her new friend disappears.

* * *

She saves the flag, a little yellow petal and a wonky twig, and puts it in between the sheets of her favourite book.

Sometimes when she looks at it she feels Lexa’s soft kiss on her cheek but she doesn’t know what that means and she figures she doesn’t really need to, she’s only seven.

**ii.**

They’re twelve and they’re best friends.

After their meeting at the park it came to be that Lexa lived across the road and three houses away and had moved in a few days earlier. It made sense for them to be friends, the adults reasoned, and Lexa was the new girl in Clarke’s class when school started again.

Maybe losing two teeth didn’t make her _older-_ older.

And besides, Clarke knows what it’s like to be the new girl. She was five when her dad got a new job--something to do with space and ships--and they moved to Florida. She left behind some of her favourite people and the best bedroom ever, so she figures she’s an expert on being the new girl.

But Lexa, being Lexa, seems to settle in fine and they grow up slowly together. They inch through school and start learning about friendships and families and they meet a new girl, Octavia Blake, at school and Clarke figures that even though she really likes Octavia--she doesn’t like anyone as much as Lexa.

Most people recognise the pair as an item. Her dad mentioned once that it was rare to see Clarke without Lexa and Clarke thinks she likes that; she likes being close to Lexa like that, she likes that when people think of Lexa they think of her too. Because Lexa is the best person in the world, in Clarke’s completely correct opinion, and to know she’s even able to exist at the same time is pretty dope.

Lexa told her to not say the word ‘dope’ because it was stupid but she heard Bellamy Blake say it once and she figures he knows more because he’s older, so.

* * *

“Did you hear that Octavia Blake kissed a boy behind the swings?”

Lexa looks up from her book and looks about as interested in the conversation as she would be if Clarke had asked her to light her eyebrows on fire. They’re in Lexa’s backyard and Clarke is cross legged on the floor, an abandoned game of Solitaire in front of her, and Lexa has been reading for the past half an hour.

To anyone else, they’re boring.

To Clarke, they’re perfect.

She doesn’t really understand why Lexa doesn’t like talking about boys or kissing but she likes Lexa enough to not question it. There are other girls that she talks to about boys and kissing but she sometimes wishes she could share it with her best friend instead.

A lot of the time, if the subject comes up, Lexa pretends she’s busy.

But, like, they’re _growing up_ and boys are going to want to marry them eventually but even with that knowledge weighing down on their shoulders Lexa just isn’t interested.

But she tries.

For Clarke, she tries.

“No I didn’t hear that,” Lexa says evenly and Clarke wriggles her toes in her Converse at the cool tone of Lexa’s voice. Sometimes her best friend sounds a lot older than twelve years old and Clarke doesn’t know what to do with those feelings. “Who even told you that? Because, unless it was Octavia, it’s probably not true.”

Clarke shrugs because she kind of thinks that it’s true and she’s kind of jealous that Octavia Blake managed to get her first kiss before Clarke did.

“I can’t remember,” she says and Lexa rolls her eyes like she’s too cool for this stupid conversation. Clarke supposes she is sometimes. Lexa has always been different. “I wonder what it felt like.”

“What?”

“To have her first kiss,” Clarke says, dreamlike. “I wonder what it’s like to be kissed.”

Lexa stares at her for a long time and Clarke wonders if she’s said something stupid or dumb or _blonde._ She hears that a lot. But it’s like Lexa is lost in a thought and that happens a lot too. It’s something that makes Clarke smile. It takes less than three seconds for her to snap out of it though and Clarke blinks at the sudden change in her friends face; before she was serious, almost bored looking, and now she’s smiling and gesturing with her hands.

It’s almost _fake._

“I bet you’ll find out soon,” Lexa says and the pitch of her voice is different, a higher tone that makes Clarke’s jaw twitch. “I’ve heard Finn Collins likes you.”

And Clarke wishes she knew why she was so disappointed by that answer.

Instead she lets Lexa tell her about the things she’s heard Finn say about her and she reacts in all of the right places; because that’s what best friends do, she says to herself, they support one another's happiness.

* * *

As it turns out Octavia _didn’t_ have her first kiss next to the swings but a boy did give her a flower and kissed her on the cheek and Octavia is positively _alive_ by it. Clarke listens attentively to all the details; how he met her in the park after school and held her hand and they talked about sports and all of the songs on the radio. She blushes when Octavia giggles and, when she tells her about what it felt like to have a boy kiss her cheek, they both fall onto their backs with a squeal, hands over their faces, and kicking their feet like they’re five again.

When she looks up again to ask Lexa what she thinks, she sees her nose-deep in a book and decides to leave her alone. Sometimes when Lexa reads Clarke thinks she actually disassociates and travels into the pages, that’s how hard it is to get her attention.

She wonders why Lexa agreed to come, though, if she wasn’t going to join in the conversation.

“Have you let anyone kiss you yet?” Octavia asks. She sounds smug, but not superior, and Clarke likes that about her. “Like, on the cheek or even on the mouth?”

Clarke thinks about seven year old Lexa; about the sticky kiss on her cheek and how she explained that she didn’t want to say goodbye without a kiss because her mom once told her it was rude.

She thinks about how each time they leave one another, even now when they’re twelve and so much older, it’s with a kiss to the cheek.

She wonders if Octavia knows that they do that.

“No,” she says, because Lexa is a girl and it doesn’t count. At least, she doesn’t think that it does. Plus Lexa did say that Finn Collins liked her. She trusts Lexa with every single bone in her body and if she says she’s going to experience her first kiss one day with a boy then she knows that she will.  “But I know it’s going to happen.”

Octavia agrees with another loud squeal and Lexa excuses herself to the bathroom.

* * *

 

They’re not allowed to stay at Octavia’s that night because Octavia’s mom works evenings and Clarke’s mom doesn’t like that they don’t have complete adult supervision.

Clarke argues that Bellamy is an adult but she’s told, quite firmly, that a sixteen year old boy isn’t an adult and her and Lexa head home with small pouts. Clarke notes that Lexa doesn’t kiss Octavia’s cheek when they leave but she does give her a complicated high-five that Clarke suspects they just made up on the spot.

“I thought you never left someone without a kiss goodbye,” Clarke whispers when they’re buckled into the back of the car, Fleetwood Mac drowning most of their conversation out. “You left Octavia with just a hug and that weird hand thing that you did.”

Lexa doesn't say anything for the longest time and Clarke grows restless waiting for her.

Finally, “I think we’re getting too old to do that anymore.”

There’s a deep feeling in her stomach that doesn’t feel very nice but Lexa is busy looking out of the window as they drive back towards Clarke’s house and she doesn’t know what to do.

As Stevie Nicks sings about children getting older Clarke wonders if getting older means getting used to the sinking feeling in your stomach when you look at your best friend.

* * *

“Octavia thinks getting a kiss on the cheek is romantic,” Clarke muses when they’re in bed later that night and Lexa shifts next to her like she’s been woken up and doesn’t want to talk.

Her thoughts are running wild though because Octavia got a kiss on her cheek from a boy and that’s, like, total confirmation that he practically loves her.

So what does it mean when Lexa does it?

She _knows_ that they’re best friends and that Lexa is weird about goodbyes, but she also knows she feels giggly and excited when Lexa does it and her best friend always leaves with a blush.

Which is exactly what Octavia described.

Which is why she needs Lexa to, like, reply. “Do you think cheek kisses are romantic? I mean, or do you think he just did it to be nice?”

Lexa mumbles something and wriggles next to her, turning around in the bed and sighing frustratedly when her sleep shirt becomes tangled under her body. “Everyone has different ideas about romance,” she sounds half-asleep and angry but Clarke’s mind is busy so Lexa can suck it up for now.

“Oh,” Clarke says and it sort of makes sense. Plus Lexa is really, really smart--like smarter than anyone she knows, even her mom--so she must be right. But the only thing is -- “You kiss my cheek a lot, you know?”

“I’ve told you, I’ll stop that. We’re too old to do it.”

“But I don’t want you to stop. I’m just asking, is it different when a boy does it than when a girl does it?”

Lexa sighs again and she sounds angry like when someone in class keeps asking stupid questions or the teacher says her line of thought is irrelevant to the subject. She really hopes that Lexa doesn’t think she’s being stupid; she’s genuinely just curious.

“Clarke, if you kiss a boy or if you’re planning on kissing boys then I can’t keep kissing your cheek. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“To who?”

And, oh, does that make Lexa shut down.

“Clarke, just leave it. If I was someone's girlfriend I don’t think I’d like knowing my partner was kissing someone else on the cheek. You understand, right?”

“No,” she stubbornly shoots back and her voice is as biting as the tears in her eyes. She can’t explain why Lexa changing their dynamic because of a stupid boy--a boy that doesn’t even exist in their world right now--scares her so much but it does and she’s not willing to accept it. “You’re my best friend so it’s different. It’s not romantic, right?”

“No, it’s not. I just…” Lexa shoots up in the bed, sitting up straight, and she runs a hand through her hair. For the first time ever Clarke can see Lexa struggling to find the words and she really wishes she knew how to help because it feels like she caused this and she just wants to make it better. “People are going to start talking, Clarke.”

“About what?”

Sharp green eyes shoot at her and Clarke shrinks back a little. “We’re not little kids anymore. We’re nearly teenagers and how many girls do you see kissing?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t looked,” Clarke shrugs in confusion and Lexa huffs out an annoyed breath at her. There’s something in her best friends eyes though that worries her and she wonders what Lexa is thinking, wonders what it is that’s making her eyes all dark like that. “And we’re not _kissing_ -kissing. It’s just something that we do and I like it when you kiss my cheek to say goodbye. It makes me feel special.”

Clarke has never felt particularly stupid or young with Lexa before but now she feels like she’s not even in the same league as her; it’s like they’re reading from the same book, on the same page, but at completely different parts of the story.

And Lexa is ahead, like she’s always ahead, and it’s like she knows something is coming before Clarke even understands.

Finally, Lexa seems to relent and Clarke wonders if it’s because she looks as sad as she feels. Lexa usually gives in when Clarke is sad about something.

“Okay. I suppose you’re right,” she whispers and Clarke buries herself into her friends arms when she holds them out for a hug. There’s a tension in Lexa that Clarke has never felt before and she just wants it to go away; she wants Lexa to be happy. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s going on with me.”

“It’s okay,” Clarke whispers and she lifts her head to press her lips against Lexa’s cheek, holding her mouth there tightly for one second, two, three…

“Goodnight, Clarke,” Lexa says and tugs out of her embrace, her eyes refusing to meet Clarke’s, but she lets it go. Lexa is her best friend, her only real friend, and she’d tell her if there was something wrong.

“Goodnight.”

Right?

**iii.**

They’re fifteen and at a boy-girl party they definitely shouldn’t be at.

Lexa’s grown into a confident teenager. She went away over the summer to stay with her uncle and Clarke went to Aspen with her parents to see her Grandmother. Clarke spent her time kayaking and wandering green fields and sketching mountains and Lexa…

Well, Lexa grew.

Taller and leaner and with a smirk on full lips that Clarke hasn’t seen before.

Her best friend is beautiful and Clarke kind of loses her mind at how lucky she is to have Lexa and that she looks like that. Because now people look at Lexa like Clarke always has. It makes her puff up in pride because Lexa only ever pays attention to Clarke and, even if she’s cooler and edgier, she still kisses Clarke’s cheek and that’s all that matters.

Finn Collins, Clarke’s first kiss and the source of hers and Lexa’s first argument, stands on a table with a bottle in his hand and Clarke already knows where this is going. It’s going where it always is, where Finn always ends his parties, and even Lexa rolls her eyes and she hasn’t even been paying any attention to anyone around her.

She’s _that_ girl at the party and, honestly, Clarke sometimes wishes she could be like that too. Cool and collected, sitting on a chair and watching people and not _needing_ to fit in. But she kind of enjoys who she is too; the girl who dances and kisses and flirts with people.

“Spin the Bottle!”

And because she’s fifteen and she’s in High School, and a boy has been looking at her like he actually noticed the colour of lip-gloss she’s chosen, she joins in.

* * *

On the fifth go around, after Clarke has kissed two people she’s pretty sure are older than her, Lexa finally sits down on the opposite side of the circle. She looks bored out of her mind but she can’t go home until Clarke does, because that’s what they promised their parents when they lied and said they were going to a friends house to study, and Clarke is enjoying the game a little too much to stop.

Kissing is fun.

After her first kiss with Finn, which was kind of awkward but all kinds of fun, she completely understands what the big deal is about it; it’s fun, and sexy, and it makes her feel kind of wanted.

She wonders what Lexa thinks about kissing.

They tell each other everything but Lexa hasn’t mentioned a first kiss yet but, truthfully, who wouldn’t want to kiss her best friend?

“Lexa,” a girl purrs from her left and Clarke twists her head so quickly that she feels the jolt down her spine. She’s never heard someone say her best friends name like that before and even Lexa’s ears have gone a little pink, her entire body shrinking back under the attention. “I’m glad you’ve finally decided to join.”

A little murmur goes through the group and Clarke knows what people say about Lexa. She’s _mysterious;_ the girl who only wears black and knows the answers in class before even the teacher does.

And there are...Well. _Rumours._

Clarke knows they aren’t true but she also knows that nobody in this room knows Lexa like she does, which helps, but it still isn’t the greatest thing to hear in the halls that your best friend is a heartbreaker and is only a heartbreaker of _girls._

Lexa is hard but she isn’t impenetrable.

And, besides, Lexa would tell her if she liked girls like that.

She thinks.

“You can spin first,” someone else says and they push the bottle towards Lexa. “You were the last to join and we’ve all kissed someone already.”

Green eyes snap up to Clarke’s and suddenly Clarke feels like she’s in the spotlight. Nobody else notices though and Lexa sighs, like the whole thing is beneath her, but she troops on and she leans forward to give the bottle the most half-hearted twist anyone could give it.

It lands on the girl next to Clarke, the same one who said her name in that sexy way, and the room seems to simultaneously inhale. That’s the only logical explanation as to why Clarke can’t catch her breath.

Lexa crawls across the circle and suddenly Clarke can’t see.

She hears someone giggle--not Lexa--and she studies the bottom of her shoes up until the moment Lexa sits back on her side of the circle.

When the girl next to her spins again, landing on a cute boy with hair falling over grey eyes, Clarke decides it’s time to leave.

* * *

Clarke watches as Lexa gets ready for bed.

She takes her time removing her makeup, the dark eyeliner needing almost three full wipes to come off fully, and even then Clarke knows she’s going to wash her face to remove the rest. Which is funny because when they were kids Lexa was the last one to try the free lipgloss they got in their magazines but now she’s all eyeliner and mascara and she knows how to contour.

They’re the same age--given Lexa is a few months older--but somehow Lexa looks more mature, more feminine. She’s all sharp angles and strong hips and while Clarke definitely matured, she glances at her chest, she doesn’t look like Lexa.

Sometimes she wonders if Lexa noticed she grew up too.

“So, you kissed a girl,” Clarke says and Lexa nods with a soft laugh, meeting her eyes for a moment in the mirror, and Clarke swallows. She doesn’t seem freaked out by it but there’s still rumors if her head that she’s heard and Lexa really didn’t act like that was her first kiss. “Have you done that before?”

“Kissed a girl?”

“Kissed anyone, I guess.”

Lexa stops wiping at her face and looks down at the dirty wipe. Her hair is pulled back into a high ponytail to keep it away from her face and Clarke marvels at how pretty her friend is. A bandana keeps any loose hair from her face and while she’s busy admiring how mature her best friend now looks, she also looks really young.

“I mean, yes,” she says quietly. She looks down at her feet and inhales slowly before she turns on the chair, her entire body facing Clarke. There’s a tension in Lexa’s shoulders and Clarke can’t find it within her, even a little, to be mad that Lexa didn’t tell her the story of her first kiss. Disappointed? Yes. But angry? She could never be that. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” Clarke frets, eyes big and wide and supportive. “Anything.”

Lexa stays quiet before she nods to herself once. The wipe in her hand is a mess of rips and crinkles where she is playing with it, but Clarke barely pays it any attention.

“I think I only want to kiss girls,” Lexa finally says. Her eyes are closed tightly like she doesn’t want to see how Clarke is going to react and her heart breaks a little for her friend because how can someone be so scared while they’re being the bravest they’ve ever been?

Clarke jumps off of the bed she was sitting on and wraps her arms around Lexa tightly, pulling her body into her own. “I love you, Lex,” she promises and Lexa shudders before she lets out a soft noise. When she pulls back Lexa’s eyes are wet and red and puffy.

“Is that okay?”

“Yes,” she says resolutely and Lexa nods; still a little scared, still a little timid. There has never been a time that she’s known Lexa to be anything more than confident and her heart fractures a little at the sight of a tear balancing on her friends eyelashes. “You kissed a girl in front of me, in front of a few of our classmates. Why would you think that it wasn’t okay? You didn’t seem to have a problem then.”

“Because that was a game,” Lexa shrugs and she shifts like she wants to be out of Clarke’s arms but the blonde refuses to let her go. She thinks if she lets go now then Lexa might use the moment to bolt and her chest already aches at Lexa’s struggle, she doesn’t want to make it worse. “It doesn’t mean anything when it’s a game. I can play it off. But I think I…I might be...No, I’m sure I’m -- ”

Lexa struggles to finish her sentence and Clarke sighs, pulling her close again. There are words for what she’s feeling, Clarke is sure, but she’s not ready yet and that’s perfectly okay. “I’m so glad you told me, Lexa. I’m so happy you trust me with this. You don’t have to have it all figured out now.”

“And they call _me_ the smart one,” Lexa giggles, happily being pulled along to the bed and she presses a long, meaningful kiss against her friends cheek before she continues speaking. “I love you, Clarke.”

Something wriggles inside of Clarke and she calls it pride.

They change quickly into soft cotton sleep clothes and climb in, nervously giggling for reasons they don’t understand, and Lexa puts a movie on Clarke’s laptop before immediately falling asleep. She’s seen this movie enough times before to know what’s going on, she’s written out an entire script of what she would have done, and so she takes the opportunity to look at Lexa.

Her stomach lurches at the idea of someone else, someone _not her,_ helping Lexa learn all about her interest in girls and she wants to know who did that for her. She wants to know the girl, who _wasn’t her,_ who managed to break through the layers of Lexa and help her begin to identify herself.

Was she pretty?

Did she get a soft kiss on her cheek when Lexa left to come home?

Clarke worries at her lip, her stomach swirling and looping as she thinks about the possibilities. Maybe she was older, more confident, not as childish as Clarke and probably smarter than her too. Maybe she understood Lexa in ways that Clarke never will.

She wonders if Lexa still speaks to her.

Next to her, the girl sighs and Clarke falls out of her daydreams. It’s _her_ bed Lexa is in now and it’s _her_ who Lexa calls her best friend.

And that’s enough.

* * *

When Clarke drifts off it’s to the image of Lexa peacefully sleeping and kissing girls and spending the rest of her life with her best friend.

When she wakes in the morning Lexa asks if they can have pancakes for breakfast and her dream fades away as easily as the yellow colour has faded from their perfect little flag.

**iv.**

They’re eighteen and they don’t get accepted into the same college.

Clarke heads out to Virginia for a Creative Writing course in the hopes of changing the world and Lexa goes to California for History in hopes of understanding the past. Clarke teases her relentlessly about her obsession with dead white guys, but Lexa has always been hung up on the past and how it has an effect on the future and even the smallest change now can have an even bigger impact later on.

Even at seven, sticky with candy and full of static hair, Lexa was adamant how castles worked and it shouldn’t have surprised Clarke at all.

And it’s not that she regrets her choice of course, she really doesn’t. She wants to write, and change lives, and see her characters come alive on screen or on the stage or in songs. But Virginia has a really good History course too and she was really hoping Lexa prefer living in a new state together over going alone to San Francisco.

But Berkeley accepted Lexa and Virginia accepted Clarke and that was that.

* * *

Lexa shares a dorm room with a girl called Costia and Clarke _isn’t_ jealous but when she listens to Lexa explain to her how they just ‘clicked’ and how it seemed like ‘they’d been friends forever’ it didn’t feel very nice and an uncomfortable weight settles in her heart.

Her own roommate is a nice girl called Luna; an artist studying Literature and Music and she’s kind of everything Clarke should want in a friend but she already has Lexa so that space has been taken.

But, it seems to Clarke anyway, that Lexa hasn’t quite received that memo.

Skype is open and Clarke watches as Lexa gets ready; green eyes occasionally stray back to the monitor but Clarke mostly feels like the third wheel to Costia and hers conversation. She’s been listening as the girls talk about Costia’s latest paper on US Presidents and Clarke _would_ have mentioned that the State she is living in at the moment was the same state founded by Jefferson but apparently Costia already knows that and suddenly it’s like Lexa remembers she is there.

“When I come to visit you, you have to show me all of the sights,” Lexa says and Clarke just nods because they’ve been talking about visiting one another for months but 2000 miles is a long way to go for a sleepover. And even if Clarke was, _is,_ willing to run the entire way just to get a night with her best friend she isn’t sure Lexa is even willing to do the same. “Will you be my tour guide?”

“Obviously,” Clarke perks up at the attention but then Costia is saying something and those green eyes flick back to her roommate.

Her undeniably gorgeous roommate.

The one with flawless ebony skin, with long black hair that trails to the waistband of her high waisted jeans. The one who speaks with eloquent sentences and uses her hands to talk and has eyes that look like they hold thousands of words to poems and sonnets and stories nobody has heard before.

And Clarke isn’t blind. Costia is one of _those_ girls.

She’s pretty and smart. And, well, _gay_.

Which isn’t an issue because obviously Clarke isn’t homophobic--her best friend is a lesbian and she herself has kissed girls, really likes kissing girls, thank you college--but Costia is gay and out of the closet and proud of who she is and Lexa is besotted.

Even Clarke can see that.

“Hey Clarke, I have to go,” she says and she’s smiling, like leaving Clarke high and dry isn’t a big deal, and Clarke plasters on a smile because she wants Lexa to enjoy college. She deserves to. “We’re going to some band thing tonight and we want to grab something to eat first.”

The time difference between them doesn’t seem real when they’re texting but as Clarke settles down in sweats and a shirt that has ‘Glasgow’ written on it, white writing fading into barely legible words on a navy background, it’s noticeable.

It’s only three hours, but she notices.

“Will you be free for a Skype date tomorrow?” Clarke asks, because she’s always the one to ask and Lexa softens completely. And suddenly they’re seven, and fifteen, and _them_ again.

Costia shuffles in the background of the frame, shirtless and angry about the red material in her hands, but Lexa stares into the camera like there isn’t a topless model behind her. “I wouldn’t miss it. You’re my best friend, Clarke.”

And Clarke believes her because Lexa is a girl of her word.

* * *

Their first year of college goes by in a flash of parties and girls and boys and stress. Clarke, despite her mom funding her college life, gets a part time job in a bakery and Lexa works in a bar two nights a week in Downtown Berkeley.

Clarke longs for summer; to go back home and meet Lexa in the middle and be able to be around people she loves again. To be with her best friend again.

Because Luna is wonderful and Jackson is so smart and Monty might be the cutest person Clarke has ever met; but none of them would be willing to find the perfect flag for her castle and she just wants that back.

She just wants Lexa.

* * *

Clarke flies back to Miami a few days before Lexa and she settles back into life comfortably. Octavia stayed in Florida, studying Criminal Law, and she’s just as excited as everyone else when people start returning home from college. They might have not been the closest friends in the world but Octavia has been there for a few things Lexa hasn’t and she appreciates the girl more than she gives her credit for.

There’s a party on the Saturday after she returns at Octavia’s house. As always her mom is MIA and Bellamy is away with work so things grow bigger and bigger until there are students spilling out into the lawn and onto the street. Someone mentions to be careful because of the cops but it falls on deaf ears and boys streak down the sidewalk and there’s a couple pressed up against the side of the house and Clarke misses Lexa.

Music pounds from the living room, a guy named Jasper standing behind the speakers and throwing out hit after hit, and Clarke is a little too drunk to notice hands on her hips at first.

“I haven’t seen you at a Blake party before,” husks in her ear and she sounds so feminine and so nice that Clarke turns around, indulging the girl for a moment. “Niylah.”

“I didn’t ask for your name.”

The woman shrugs, unperturbed, and it makes Clarke laugh a little because she likes that. “You would have eventually. I thought I’d skip ahead a few steps,” she says and Clarke doesn’t really reply because she probably would have done just that but she doesn’t need to know that.

The girl--Niylah--wears a black tank top and the humid Florida heat causes a flush on her skin, droplets of sweat gathering around her collarbones, and her hair has been pulled back. Bodies grind around them and it forces their hips together, not that Niylah seems to mind, and Clarke has to swallow a few times.

It’s not like she’s been celibate in college. There have been boys, and the occasional girl, but this is the first time she’s felt challenged. It causes her to pause because the only other person to make her feel like that is Lexa, which suddenly grinds her excitement to a halt.

“Do you want to get a drink?”

Niylah nods at that and Clarke leads them to the big kitchen. It’s still crowded with people but there seems to be less of them in here, enough at least that it feels like Clarke is breathing air rather than someone else's exhale, and she pours them both a lukewarm beer.

She’s been to enough parties to know how to drink a disgusting drink without retching.

She wonders if Lexa knows too.

“How long are you here for?” Niylah asks but she doesn’t take a drink, simply plays with the cup in her hand. “Are you back for the summer or do you go to college here?”

“Just back for the summer,” Clarke says. She leans back against the counter, letting Niylah step into her space a little, but she doesn’t elaborate further than that and she’s sure Niylah will ask if she really wants to know. “You?”

“I’m a researcher at FIU, but I suppose you don’t really care about that do you?”

And Clarke knows when someone wants something from her; she isn’t ignorant to the way Niylah’s eyes have been carving a path from her neck down to her thighs, how she smiles a little slower and approached her first. She knows what’s going to happen tonight.

But still, a conversation would have been nice.

Then again she’s been craving a conversation for a long time, a real one with someone she knows, and she just wishes time would skip forward thirty-four hours so she could see --

“Lexa,” she breathes and Niylah furrows her eyebrows at that. Clarke feels a heat at her thigh, where Niylah is leaning against her, but her body reacts completely different when her best friend walks in. “Oh my God.”

She’s off and away from the blonde before she’s even finished her own sentence and Lexa is _beaming_ at her; all teeth and lips and open arms.

“Hello stranger,” Lexa murmurs against her earlobe before pecking at the swell of her cheek and, for the first time since returning to her childhood state, Clarke feels like she’s home. “I’ve missed you.”

“Lexa,” she says again, like it’s the only word she remembers, and she grips onto strong shoulders for a few moments too long. When she moved into her dorm there was an ache in her chest where she missed her family, her friends, but it was nothing compared to the loss she felt when Lexa left.

Bit by bit she feels the hole repairing.

“You know, you could have said you had a girlfriend,” Niylah’s voice breaks in and Clarke pulls away. Lexa’s hand fixes on her waist though and she can’t move much further from her side but she lets it happen. “You didn’t have to lead me on. You should keep an eye on this one.”

“Oh, we’re not --” Clarke starts because the woman doesn’t even have her name yet and she’s already assuming things about her, but then she feels another kiss on her cheek, soft and promising.

“She’s naturally too nice,” Lexa says, sickeningly sweet, and Clarke stops to look at her for a solid five seconds. “But I trust her so it doesn’t matter. Sorry your feelings got hurt at a college party.”

And, Lord, Clarke doesn’t know where this Lexa has been hiding but she isn’t entirely against the husky voice and the strong eye contact and the tight hold.

College has been _good_ to her friend.

“Lex,” Clarke hums but she doesn’t stop her friend because she doesn’t really know Niylah and, honestly, she’s missed Lexa too much to care about what someone else thinks. “Pay attention to me.”

And Lexa does.

As soon as Niylah has scoffed and walked away Clarke whirls around, her eyes bright and happy as soon as they lock with Lexa’s, and she holds back her own laughter. “You know she thinks we’re dating now.”

“She looks too old to be hitting on you anyway,” her best friend growls and something tugs in the back of Clarke’s stomach at the protective tone; at the way Lexa looks; at the fact she has yet to let go of her waist. Her eyes only soften when they fall and meet Clarke’s and something flashes, something quick, and suddenly she’s sweet again. “I can go and tell her we’re not actually together if you want to continue where the two of you left off. I was just kind of hoping to surprise you tonight.”

Clarke ignores that idiotic suggestion and wraps her arms around her friend again. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

* * *

Summer is spent with Lexa and only Lexa.

There’s a maturity about both of them but Clarke still feels like a kid around Lexa sometimes. She’s so clever, and so cool, and she wears leather jackets because she likes them and not just because that’s what a badass is supposed to do.

There’s only two weeks before they go back for second year and Lexa is talking about how Costia is already setting up their new apartment, because she’s a California native and didn’t have to go far to return home, and Clarke is half-listening because she’s stuck on the fact that Lexa is carving out a life without her.

The sun tans her skins slowly as they lay in Clarke’s backyard and as much as she complains about it, she really has missed the Florida heat and the way Lexa’s freckles appear. But then her thoughts drift to Costia and how now Costia has the chance to see Lexa’s eyes change and swap different shades of green and hazel, and how she stretches out like a cat in the warmth of the sun, and how she looks like a damn model in a bikini and aviators and painted pink lips.

Clarke has friends in Virginia but they’re not Lexa.

“Do you think you’ll ever move back to Florida?” Clarke asks it because she needs to _know._ Because their plans have always been go to college and then come home and settle into life as adults. _Together._

But Lexa is talking about California like it’s _home;_ and that’s strange to her because Clarke has only ever felt at home when she’s with Lexa and maybe that was kind of a stupid thought to have.

Her best friend has always been smarter.

Lexa sighs, like she knows the answer, and suddenly Clarke regrets even asking.

“I haven’t thought that far ahead,” she says softly and Clarke moves her hand from where it’s been resting against Lexa’s, their pinkies touching, and she sits up on the sun lounger. Honestly she doesn’t want to be upset with Lexa because she’s her own person but, lately at least, it feels like all the decisions they made together as kids are crumbling around them and only Clarke is trying to catch them. “But, I mean, I’m studying _History,_ Clarke. And I know I was passionate about only studying something I’m going to like but there’s only so much I can do with that…”

Clarke shakes her head. “That’s not true. There are so many things you can do, you can be a teacher or a curator or --”

“My professor told me that there are positions for TA’s at in some of his classes and I think I’m going to take it. Teaching seems like it’d be fun,” she says and Clarke blinks a few times because she’s not an idiot, she knows that’s probably going to add on a few years to their plans. “And I really like California.”

Clarke nods and nods and nods.

Because she likes Virginia and her friends and her college.

But she’s always liked Lexa more.

* * *

It takes absolutely nobody by surprise when, around Christmas time, Lexa announces that her and Costia are in a relationship.

Facebook official, Instagram tagged, Twitter approved _official._

She left Clarke with a kiss on the cheek and a promise to keep in contact but they’re both working hard and second year is, like, doubly hard than first year and it’s difficult.

It’s just so difficult.

They have a date, once a week, where they Skype but that often ends early or with one of them falling asleep and it hurts and it sucks. Her mom tells her that’s what the real world is, disappointing and painful, and her dad tells her to keep her chin up but when the Skype calls go unanswered and when it takes a _day_ for Lexa to reply to messages it’s hard to do that.

And the truth is she wants to be happy for her friend because Costia is the most beautiful person in the world, inside and out, and she blames the distance on why her smile doesn’t reach her eyes when Lexa tells her she’s in her first ever relationship.

How can she show how happy she is for her through a screen, she argues.

She is happy.

Because Lexa is happy.

* * *

Sometimes she wishes Lexa was as happy with Clarke as Clarke is with Lexa.

* * *

That night she announces her and Costia are an official couple, acting like she’s won the Lotto, Clarke falls asleep with their little flag in her hand and her favourite book discarded on the floor.

A faded yellow petal and a broken twig.

* * *

Third year hits with the force of a thousand suns.

Summer between second and third year was spent working for both girls. Clarke went back at Thanksgiving and Lexa went back at Christmas and their paths just didn’t quite cross. It was like they were back to reading the same book but now Lexa was on the final chapter, summing it all up, and Clarke was only now just figuring out the main twist.

It’s four in the morning when Clarke is forced awake by the the shrill sound of her phone ringing. At first she’s too tired to really understand what is happening and she ignores it, shuffling back into her pillow and briefly wondering if it was part of her dream.

Not thirty seconds later it rings again.

“What?”

There’s silence from the other end and Clarke sighs hard. She had a test the day before that exhausted her body and her mind and she has a script half-written on her laptop that’s almost ready to be trashed and started again. The last thing she needs is a prank phone call, especially when she agreed to work the breakfast shift at work before her two o’clock lecture.

“Clarke.”

And just like that she’s awake.

“Lexa?”

“Clarke,” breathes through her phone again and her heart stops because Lexa’s voice is sad and heartbroken and Clarke is two-thousand miles away. She’s on the other side of the fucking country and the last time she saw Lexa cry they were fifteen and Lexa was terrified of being gay. “Please.”

She sits up in bed quickly and turns on her lap, eyes squinting at the time, and then she shoots her gaze across to Luna’s bed. It’s empty, probably at a party, but Clarke is glad for it and she brings her knees to her chest. “Lexa, baby. Tell me what’s wrong.”

(They don’t mention the term of endearment.)

“My mom. She’s -- She’s...Oh God,” there’s a retching noise on the other end of the phone and Clarke can’t stop the tears from falling, can’t stop her heart breaking.

Worst case scenarios fly through her mind over and over and over.

There’s never been a dad. It’s always been Lexa and her mom and while Lexa’s dad is, well, _alive_ \-- he’s absent and busy with another family in Fort Lauderdale. She’s known about it since she was seven, when they were playing house and Lexa announced _‘you don’t always need a daddy to play this game’_ and Clarke had accepted it easily.

She knows that Lexa literally has Clarke and her mom and nobody else.

(She has Costia.)

( _She has Costia._ )

“There was an accident, they did some tests --” Lexa’s sentence runs off again and Clarke sits and waits and cries. “She was in a car accident and they took her in for tests. They found cancer, Clarke.”

And Clarke does what she needs to do.

* * *

They end up back in Miami within an hour of each other.

Abby pays for the flights and both girls beg their professors and work for a few days off. Lexa secures a week but Clarke needs to be back by Wednesday but that’s okay, it’s okay, because that’s four days--including the weekend--where can be the support Lexa needs.

* * *

“It’s not terminal,” Clarke whispers into her best friends hair and she feels Lexa relax into her body. They’re in Lexa’s childhood bedroom, her mom is asleep in her own room, and mascara stains Clarke’s shirt and the pillow and Lexa’s pale cheeks. “They can treat this and she’s going to be okay, Lex. She’s going to be fine. I promise.”

Lexa shake her head, buries her face into Clarke’s collarbone. “Don’t promise me things like that.”

“I trust my mom. I trust the doctors and their diagnosis,” she continues and Lexa _grips_ onto her shirt, like she’s holding onto Clarke and her beliefs and her faith. “It’s going to be okay. I swear it.”

“I love you,” Lexa says and she lifts her head to look into Clarke’s eyes. She’s seen Lexa in hundreds of ways but the sincerity burning back at her is the first time she’s ever seen her like this. “You didn’t need to come back with me but I’m so thankful that you did.”

Clarke cups Lexa’s cheek, thumbs moving over her sharp jawline and chin, and she tilts her head so that her forehead is resting against Lexa’s. Telling her that there is nowhere in the world she’d rather be seems too small, too cliché, and even if it is true she doesn’t think it rings true.

“Your needs are my needs, Lex,” she whispers and she feels the girl tremble against her, her eyes opening in time to see the shake of Lexa’s lower lip, and Clarke brushes her finger across it. “I’ll be wherever you need me to be. Just like I know you’ll be where I need you.”

“I will. I swear I will.”

Lexa places a strong kiss against Clarke’s cheekbone and another against the swell of her cheek. Both sensations causing electricity to flow through Clarke’s veins, her fingertips tightening against her best friend.

“I love you too.”

* * *

Somewhere between getting on her flight back to college and settling back in her dorm room, it hits her.

She really, really, _really_ loves Lexa.

* * *

Just before the final leg of final year comes in, she comes out.

She announces it on Instagram, of course, by standing in front of a bisexual flag and telling the world that she loves who she loves and she’s proud of it.

What she means is she loves Lexa, more than she can comprehend, and even if she only stands a ten percent chance with her then that’s more of a chance than she ever stood before.

Of course Lexa is supportive, with a long-worded essay on her Instagram post, and then with an immediate invite to San Francisco Pride. She turns down the offer but only because Lexa had said that her _and_ Costia were going and she loves Lexa, she really does, but she loves herself too and she really doesn’t want to watch Costia and Lexa be a couple.

She’s not worried anyway.

She’s never been worried when it comes to her and Lexa.

**V.**

They’re twenty-one and college graduates.

It’s October and Clarke still doesn’t really feel like an adult, even if she has a college degree and an apartment that are two signifiers that she is. Art lines her walls and she understands the meaning in the pictures; music plays and she listens to the lyrics; she has wine in her cupboards and food in her fridge and a steady job at a small firm as a Content Writer.

But there’s something missing and it’s undeniable.

Raven, her new housemate, tells her it’s regular sex.

Octavia says it’s a solid workout plan.

Lexa says it’s her.

She knows who she is most likely to believe.

* * *

Lexa moves to New York a month after she breaks up with Costia.

It’s not exactly _Florida_ but it’s almost a thousand miles closer and at least now she’s on the same side of the country in the same damn time zone.

She’s bagged a job as a researcher at The Museum of the City of New York and Lexa sends her the prettiest pictures and she exudes happiness and everything she deserves. She lives in an apartment in some seedy area, that she calls _bohemian,_ but she lives with a giant names Lincoln and his presence makes Clarke feel better on the nights Lexa’s too tired to text her that she got home safely.

However. There is _one_ thing her best friend can’t get used to…

“It’s so cold today,” Lexa snarls down the phone and Clarke giggles at the image of her friend, completely wrapped up against the bitter chill, and she tries to not rub it in her face that she’s currently sat in a t-shirt while working from her back garden for the day. “I hate New York.”

“Don’t let Billy Joel hear you say that.”

Lexa laughs, a breath of cold air leaving her lips. “I thought you’d have gone the Alicia Keys route, so nice.”

“I live to impress you.”

At that, Clarke blushes. Lexa misses it as she rushes across the street as she heads to work and by the time she looks back Clarke is biting at her lower lip, avoiding the camera. “I miss you, Griffin. Come and see me.”

“No. It looks cold.”

“Okay,” Lexa agrees but she’s smiling too much to really be able to get her words out. “Guess I’m going to have to come there then. I don’t think our moms would like it if we _both_ died from frostbite.”

In the background Clarke can see people bustle past Lexa, who has stopped just outside the museum to speak to her, and she’s struck with how _at home_ she looks. She always assumed she’d stay with Costia in California but when they’d broken up Lexa had practically packed up her life and left.

Just like that.

Clarke had asked, over and over, but Lexa had just said it was over and that they grew apart.

Sometimes Clarke curses being a writer because she knows there’s something else hidden in her words and she wishes she was better at reading, just so she could figure it out.

“Go to work, smartass,” she sasses and only then realises they’ve spent thirty seconds or so just looking at one another with dumb smiles on their faces. “Show them why you graduated Magna Cum Laude.”

“Will do,” Lexa grins and Clarke ignores the beat of her heart for her own sanity.

* * *

In March Miami practically shuts down for a Cuban festival and the whole city seems to come _alive._ It’s vibrant and exciting and Clarke loves every single minute of it. Raven invites her to go too and is happy enough when she extends the invite to Lexa, who readily accepts.

Raven seems to become a whole new person as she jumps and whoops and sings along to songs neither Clarke or Lexa really know and Clarke basks in her happiness. There’s face paint and confetti and they eat delicious food between cheering and waving flags and both Clarke and Lexa watch as Raven glows.

When they finally get home Lexa falls asleep in Clarke’s bed and the blonde has to make a decision between falling asleep with her, on the couch, or sharing a bed with Raven.

“Just get into your own bed,” Raven tells her, leaning against the kitchen counter and rubbing at her thigh a little. Clarke’s eyes flicker down but Raven waves her off before she even asks if she’s okay. She knows she’ll probably be in a little discomfort for a few days but she assumes it was worth it for her.

Clarke glances towards her bedroom door and then back at Raven. “Lexa’s asleep though.”

“You’ve shared a bed before.”

Clarke nods but that was when they were kids. When they were teenagers. When their lives revolved around one another and there weren’t exes and distance and…

“You’re practically a couple anyway so just get over yourself,” Raven interrupts and Clarke jumps at those words because they _are not_ a couple. Sometimes she wishes she never confided in Raven about how she felt about Lexa. “Go and spoon your other half. It’s your turn to make breakfast in the morning so try and get _some_ rest.”

With that Raven swoops into her bedroom and Clarke is left reeling.

* * *

“Raven thinks we’re dating.”

“You wish you could land a girl as hot as me.”

“What makes you think I can’t?”

“You never tried.”

* * *

It’s not cheap but they start flying to one another as often as they can. Clarke’s parents have always had more money than they probably knew what to do with and Lexa has always been a professional at saving her earnings.

Things begin to change slowly and it sparks inside Clarke that Lexa doesn’t stop things from happening.

They share a bed most of the time. And while Lincoln does offer his own and says that he’ll leave to make the girls comfortable, they always end up sharing.

Meals out are split dutch but sometimes Lexa insists, especially if Clarke has flown in, and she blushes when the waiters give her knowing looks but she doesn’t correct them.

And they don’t date.

Either of them.

Lexa leaves Clarke at the terminal, whether she’s coming or going, with a kiss on the cheek but it begins to linger longer than necessary and Clarke hears Lexa inhale on more than one occasion like she’s ready to say something. She never does though; she just leaves with a soft look in her eyes, parting their fingers at the last minute, and licking at her lower lip.

It’s building, Clarke knows it is.

She just doesn’t know when it’s going to spill over.

* * *

(Lexa has always know first though.

She thinks Lexa will always know first.)

* * *

They’re in a coffee shop in the middle of New York when she notices the first genuine change.

Lexa has a book laid on the table but she isn’t really paying it much attention, mostly telling Clarke about it’s age, and Clarke listens because when Lexa speaks it sets something off inside of her that she really enjoys feeling. There’s a tiny espresso cup in front of Lexa, because _of course_ that’s what Lexa drinks, and Clarke briefly wonders if her friends lips will still hold the flavour.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry,” interrupts them and Lexa stops dead in the middle of her sentence to glare at the new voice, green eyes narrowed so hard that even Clarke shrinks under the gaze and it isn’t remotely directed towards her. “Seriously, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“But you did,” Lexa shrugs and the guy blushes.

Clarke thinks it should probably be cute how he looks so nervous and how he’s twisting his feet a little but she’s more taken by the tight jaw and the grip her friend has on the book she was so in love with a few seconds ago.

“I did, yes,” he says slowly but he looks nervous so Clarke decides to give him a chance, shrugging at her friend, and Lexa huffs but waves her hand at him like she’s giving him permission to speak. The whole thing is kind of ridiculous and Clarke will deny ever feeling a warmth spread through her at the blatant display of jealousy from Lexa. “It’s just...I couldn’t leave without telling you how beautiful you are.”

For a moment Clarke thinks the compliment is being directed at Lexa--because Lexa is _gorgeous_ and that would make sense--but brown eyes continue to focus on Clarke and she flushes under the attention. “Oh, thank you.”

“My name is Wells,” he offers quietly and Clarke nods before she realises she should probably introduce herself too but she’s kind of stuck on the fact he called her beautiful. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to tell you that.”

And, God. That’s sweet. But…

When she looks at Lexa she’s back to reading her book but there’s a scowl on her face and Clarke feels her stomach drop.

“It’s okay. That’s really nice of you,” she says and, thankfully, he seems to take the hint.

Wells leaves with a handsome smile, a wave, and dark eyes that Clarke thinks she could have gotten lost in if they were living in another lifetime.

In this one, though, she’s a fan of lighter eyes and a sweeter smile.

Clarke counts the silence and Lexa finally says something after 32 Mississippi’s. She’s still not looking at Clarke but she flips a page, a little harder than perhaps necessary, and says, “He was cute.”

“Was he? I didn’t think he was your type.”

Lexa smiles for a second before she flattens it back down. She doesn’t say anything more and Clarke resists the urge to scream in her best friends face that there is quite obviously something between them if Lexa would just _pay attention._

“I think I have my eye on someone anyway. I don’t have time to fall for anyone who might be a waste of my time,” Clarke says because she’s read enough novels and heard enough songs and wrote enough scripts to know that she’s been falling for Lexa for a long time.

And maybe that someone is her friend of over fourteen years, her best friend.

And maybe that’s terrifying and scary and all of the other negative words people think when they fall in love with their best friend.

But Clarke honestly can’t think of a better person.

“And who do you have time for then?”

Clarke smiles and waits until Lexa looks up from her book. “You. I always have time for you.”

* * *

Lexa has work at the same time Clarke needs to be in the terminal for her flight so they decide to drop her off early and spend some time together before Lexa rushes off for work and Clarke heads back to their childhood home.

They watch as people rush in and out of the doors and a coffee warms Clarke’s hands in the early city air. Next to her Lexa taps a tune with her feet and Clarke is sure she could write hundreds of movies on the small things Lexa does.

She’s sure that’s how she’s going to make her millions.

Lexa’s phone beeps, letting them know it’s probably time for her to go, but she doesn’t move from where they’re sitting on a bench and Clarke thinks that maybe this is the moment Lexa decides to be brave.

“So I’ve been thinking,” she says and Clarke feels her heart race. She clings onto her coffee cup harder, scared she’s going to drop it and terrified she’ll throw it away so she can hold Lexa, and she looks at her friend patiently. “You should probably move to New York.”

And _that_ wasn’t what she was expecting.

“What?”

“It’s just...You’ve never really shown an interest in California and LA would probably be better to get your scripts read, but New York has a very good scene and you could try to get some of your writing showcased in the city. It has to be better than what’s going on around Florida, right?”

She doesn’t know what to say.

“But the plan was to move back to Miami and become adults there.”

“Plans change,” Lexa shrugs and Clarke waits for her to go on. “Clarke, I didn’t plan on making a best friend that day in the park but I did. I didn’t plan on being gay but I am. I never planned on meeting someone in California but that's exactly what happened. My mom was never supposed to get cancer, and I wasn’t supposed to move to New York and I never meant to fall in love with my best friend but these things happen and plans change and sometimes you have to take that chance.”

And, oh _God._

“I --”

She’s stupid and reckless and crazy.

“I love you too.”

But love kind of makes people that way.

“I’ll move to New York,” she whispers and it’s probably the most impulsive thing she’s done and they haven’t lived in the same city for nearly five years but Lexa never planned on being in love with her and she is and suddenly everything falls into place. “I’m moving to New York.”

* * *

Lexa should have gone ten minutes ago but Clarke was crying and her check in time was soon and absolutely none of it mattered because she’s almost positive this is where she’s supposed to be.

“I know you think I’m always ahead of you when it comes to us,” Lexa whispers, like she’s read her mind, like she knows her thoughts, and Clarke smiles. “So I’m letting you know that I’m going to kiss you now. Is that okay?”

“Oh,” Clarke breathes out.

When they finally kiss it’s like every single first kiss she ever wanted and every last kiss she thought she deserved. It’s passionate and sweet and rough and soft. It’s too much and not enough. Lexa’s lips are slightly chapped and her hands are chilled when they cup the back of her neck but Clarke moans into it anyway, her own fingers coming up to tangle in brunette tresses and a moan echoes back into her mouth when she tugs softly.

“I’ve been waiting to do that ever since I can remember,” Lexa breathes out but Clarke doesn’t reply, she doesn’t want to, and she kisses her again and again and again.

Lexa’s bottom lip trembles under her own and she sucks on it, dulling her desire to know what Lexa tastes like, just as Lexa wraps herself closer and closer to Clarke until they stumble slightly under the shared weight.

“I think I’ve wanted you ever since you yelled at me about my castle not having a flag.”

She laughs at that. “One, I did not yell at you. I simply told you the truth,” she whispers and her lips brush against Clarke’s so they kiss again. “Two, how else would anyone know who it belonged to?”

“Does that mean I need to put a flag somewhere on you?” Clarke laughs and Lexa rests her forehead against Clarke’s, her nose brushing against hers.

“I’ve always been yours, Clarke. You know that. I’ve been trying to show you for years.”

Clarke thinks about Costia and then find her face replaced with soft kisses and hand holds and being the only person Lexa can think about when she needs someone. She thinks about arguments over dumb boys and learning to live without each other and never giving up.

“Keep showing me,” she says and Lexa nods, solemn. “Show me forever.”

“I swear I will.”

**FINALE.**

They’re twenty-five and still best friends.

Four months after the kiss at the airport, after Clarke lost her mind to the taste of Lexa, after countless phone calls and messages and Skype calls where they fell asleep to one another and fell further in love; Clarke moved.

Clarke moves in with Lincoln and Lexa and she worries for a week whether the man will even like her. But he works security and he’s out of the house at nine most nights and home at around seven in the morning, so they get the evenings to themselves and Lincoln can sleep in peace while the couple are at work.

Lincoln is sweet. He has plans to open his own security firm and he’s the biggest out-of-the-closet romantic Clarke has ever met. If some of her male character are based on him well that’s just a coincidence. He’s supportive and friendly and if Clarke is going to share Lexa with anyone, she’s glad it’s him.

“You know, I always thought you and Lexa were already dating,” he tells her one night when Lexa is staying late at the museum and he has an evening off. “But then she came home a few months ago talking about how the universe has always had a plan and how it eventually worked out, that you finally kissed. Thought the damn girl had been knocked over by a cab and was concussed.”

Clarke shakes that particular image out of her head.

“I think we’ve always been something more,” Clarke confesses and Lincoln nods, his eyes scanning over Clarke’s work and they’re settled onto the long brown couch in the apartment. It’s New York, there isn’t much room, but it’s theirs and she wonders if she’s ever thanked Lincoln enough for giving this space to Lexa and then opening it up to her. “She’s just always been...There.”

“That’s how best friends work.”

“No, we’ve always been different,” Clarke disagrees and Lincoln easily accepts that, understands that. And Clarke sinks into the pillows--of which Lexa argues there are too many--and she bites at her nail as Lincoln continues to read her words. Even Lexa hasn’t done that yet. “I’ve always loved her. From day one, I suppose.”

“I think she always loved you too,” Lincoln smiles and Clarke loves him a little more. He’s always so happy to talk about love and weddings and the future and God, he’s going to make the best husband one day. “She always spoke about you. Literally from the first day that she moved in”

“She did?”

He smiles, that knowing smile. “Every single day.”

* * *

Lexa’s mom gets the all clear on Lexa’s twenty-sixth birthday and they fly back to Miami over the weekend.

Clarke’s dad has a barbeque and he fights with Bellamy over it, Bellamy’s pregnant wife rolling her eyes as she sees her future in front of her, and Raven and Octavia are invited but seem to spend most of their time flirting with one another and, weirdly, arm-wrestling.

For most of it Lexa hovers near her mom and Clarke lets her, happy to catch up with her own friends and family, but she always feels her presence near her. She catches her eyes more than once which only leads to a scoff from Raven and she sits at a table with the girls instead, her attention half on their conversation and half on how Lexa curls up to her mom.

“The next time we’re here it’s going to be for your engagement party,” Octavia tells her and Clarke blushes from her chest all the way to the tips of her ears. “Trust me. It’s happening.”

Clarke doesn’t disagree.

* * *

That night, pressed together in Clarke’s old bedroom, she pants it into Lexa’s mouth.

“I’m going to marry you one day.”

Lexa smirks and moves her hands to Clarke’s hip, pressing her thigh up harder and using her strength to pull Clarke’s hips down hard against the solid muscle. “Not if I marry you first.”

All other promises die as finger sink lower and moans grow deeper and kisses paint over skin again and again and again.

* * *

Lincoln moves out over the winter.

Clarke cries for a solid twenty minutes and Lexa stands awkward, unsure whether to comfort her or laugh, and Lincoln stares at them because this was always going to end with him living somewhere else and Clarke and Lexa living alone.

“I’m still going to be around,” he says awkwardly and Lexa laughs softly as she leans against the counter, her arms folded as she takes in the interaction, and Clarke nods sadly. “Besides, when you sell you script for all the money on Broadway I’m going to come back and cash in on all the time you’ve made me act out scenes.”

_That_ gets Lexa’s attention. “I’m sorry, what?”

The rest of the night is spent eating pizza and promising to help give out business cards for Lincoln’s new firm and they watch all the best black and white movies that they own.

Another chapter has ended and Lexa is still there and Clarke leans into her, Lexa’s embrace warming her instantly, and she presses a hard kiss to the girls jawline. The knowledge she’s real, the knowledge she’s hers and they love each other and it’s forever is almost overwhelming and Clarke is sure, that even with the best writer in the world, she’d never be able to write a love story like theirs.

* * *

“Marry me,” Lexa says, doesn’t ask, and Clarke looks at the little yellow flag with the broken twig and the diamond ring hanging from the centre of it.

It’s barely morning, Lexa is wearing workout clothes and Clarke has been up all night finishing up the final edits the producers have asked for.

They’re tired and they’re thirty and Clarke knows exactly what to say.

“Yes,” and Lexa _literally_ jumps before bundling the blonde into her arms, eyes crinkling beneath happiness and exhaustion and love.

She kisses her cheek and Clarke laughs in elation as the woman runs off, exclaiming she needs to tell her mom and Lincoln and shit is Clarke’s dad going to be mad?

She lifts her hand to the damp spot on her face and smiles.

Cheek kisses are _totally_ romantic.


End file.
